If Winter Comes
by whilewewereyetsinners
Summary: "It didn't matter how desperately he wanted to go home. After what he had chosen to do he could never go home." Edward remains a nomad after his rebellious period, but he needs to know Carlisle and Esme are safe. Edward-style angst, canon-friendly AU. **TRIGGER WARNING: Rosalie's rape is in this-it's not graphic, but if it may trigger you proceed with caution!**


**...**

 _If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?_

 ** _..._**

 **December 1933**

 **Rochester, NY**

 **.**

He'd finally found him.

Edward stood frozen three blocks away from Rochester General Hospital, relief surging through him as he listened to the familiar calm voice speaking to a patient, the familiar calm mind sorting rapidly through diagnoses and treatment options.

Finally, he knew that Carlisle was safe.

He gradually became aware of the other thoughts around him, his complete stillness frightening passersby, and forced himself to move.

He kept moving, all the rest of the night, but never walked so far that he couldn't hear Carlisle's thoughts.

 **...**

 **...**

He found their home the next morning, easily following Carlisle's mind from a safe distance, and hid in the forest over a mile away, drinking in all the domestic details, the comforts of home that he'd left behind.

They didn't speak of him, and he wanted to be glad of it. He wasn't worthy to be spoken of by them.

But they both thought of him, the frequency of it surprising and shaming him, thoughts that mostly involved the phrase, "I wish."

 _I wish I knew where he is_

 _I wish I knew he was safe_

 _I wish I could think he is happy_

 _I wish_

 _I wish_

Esme knelt beneath the Christmas tree, dividing a teetering pile of gifts into two smaller, more manageable stacks, and to Edward's surprise he realized they were for him. Had they bought gifts for him all the years he'd been gone? Carlisle knelt beside her and silently balanced another on the pile, and Esme made a low, pained noise.

"He'll come home," Carlisle told her in what Edward could tell he intended to be a reassuring tone, but it fell short for both his listeners. _Please, Edward, please come home._

Esme embraced him, hiding her face in his neck. "Of course he will," she agreed disingenuously, her mind filled with fear. _Oh, I wish…_

Edward was a further half mile away before he realized he was running.

He wanted…oh, he wanted…

But it didn't matter how desperately he wanted to go home. It didn't matter that he hadn't tasted human blood in over two years. It wouldn't even matter if he never murdered a human again. After what he had chosen to do he could never go home.

They deserved better than him.

 **...**

 **...**

Edward listened carefully as Carlisle arrived for his shift at the hospital. There was the usual mixture of attraction and fear in the minds of everyone he encountered, but no suspicion. His gentleness and cordiality made most people guiltily regret their instinctive reaction to him, and his professionalism and skill assuaged the discomfort of his superiors and colleagues. Carlisle was safe. Esme was safe.

There was no reason for him to stay.

He would come back in a year or so, he decided, and ensure that things were still going well. The safety his mind reading offered was the one thing he truly regretted taking away from them. Checking up on them was the least he could do.

"Goodbye, Carlisle," he whispered, so quietly he was barely able to hear his own voice.

Then he forced himself to turn and walk away.

 **...**

 **...**

He turned his collar up around his face and bowed his head into it, walking at a human pace and trying to tune out the minds around him. Not only did he not feel up to the emotional battering of hundreds of disparate minds, he didn't want to notice when he finally walked out of range of Carlisle's. He managed, finally, to smash the voices down to an indistinct blur by deconstructing Messiaen's _Fantaisie Burlesque_ , a composition he'd recently heard for the first time, and considered the ways he might be able to access a piano to play it. One of the vacant summer homes in the Thousand Islands, perhaps? He decided to head that direction after leaving the city, then mentally sank into the music.

Fifteen minutes later, his mind was so deep in the ebb and flow of it that venom was filling his mouth before he was even conscious of the smell of freshly spilled blood.

He swallowed hard and tried to take a step away, but the sudden sensory overload immobilized him—the sounds, the grunts the chuckles the slap of flesh against flesh the whimpers the labored breathing, the smells, God the smell of blood the blood the bloodtheblood… He fought to focus on the other smells, the urine, the rotting garbage, the trash, the cat on the roof, the filth… the filth of their minds, the minds he'd spent the past two years trying to avoid, the lust, the pleasure in causing pain. And her mind, shocked and desperate as she tried to breathe through the hand over her mouth and nose _please please someone please help please_

"Hurry up, Royce," one of them slurred drunkenly, "we all want a turn with your bride."

There was a renewed burst of terror from the mind of the poor girl on the ground _oh God no please no no_ and Edward thought of Esme, helpless beneath the hands of her pig of a husband, and all the wives and girlfriends and children and sisters of the men he'd killed, who'd been used and abused in every imaginable way, and he was suddenly in the alley, his hand too tight around Royce's throat as he yanked him off the wreck of a woman he should have protected above all else.

"Men like you make me sick," he hissed into the others' frightened faces, his own inhuman face reflected back at him through their minds. They were the ones whimpering now and he was savagely glad of it.

One of their bladders let loose, splashing urine onto the half-conscious girl on the ground, and Edward backhanded him into the wall, the man's head impacting with a wet thunk that shook him the tiniest bit out of his red-haze fury. He tried desperately to get control of himself before he killed them all.

He wasn't that man anymore. He didn't play God. It wasn't his place to mete out punishment or decide who lived and who died.

A frustrated growl ripped from his chest and the three men still standing cowered away from him. "Do not even _think_ about hurting someone like this ever again," he said menacingly, the growl still rumbling in his chest roughening his voice. "Or hurting anyone. At all. In any way. _Ever_. Do you understand me?!"

One whispered his agreement while the other two nodded frantically.

 _It's not my place to decide who lives and who dies_ , Edward reminded himself, while fervently wishing it was. _It's not my place._

"Get out," he hissed.

They just stood there, one of them still mindlessly nodding.

"Out!" he shouted. "Go!"

They ran, one of them stumbling repeatedly over his unfastened trousers, and it took every bit of self-control Edward had to stand there and let them leave.

Then he forced his fingers to relax their grip around the neck in his hand and Royce fell to the ground, head skewed unnaturally to the side. Edward stared blindly at him for a moment before kicking him into the back of the alley with a furious cry.

He'd been trying _so hard_ to be good. He really had. He just wanted to go home and he never could and he'd been trying _so hard_.

Why could he never do what was right?

He turned to the girl behind him, and dear God, there was so much blood. It was smeared on her face and her legs and matted in her hair, and she was bruised everywhere. Her hat was tossed to the side, strands of her hair caught in the hatpin when it had been torn from her head, and her clothes were ripped open. Edward focused on the other smells, the disgusting smells, then crouched down and reached out to cover her, pausing when she flinched.

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." He gently pulled her coat together and fastened the two remaining buttons.

"What are you?" she whispered fearfully.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He rolled her hat up and put it in his pocket, slid her handbag on his arm, and considered the best way to lift her.

"Not what I asked," she muttered, her mind irritated, and Edward felt his mouth lift in a smirk.

Irritation was good. She would be all right.

"I'm the man who's going to take you to the hospital," he told her cheerfully and uninformatively.

"Hmph," she retorted weakly, then cried out in pain as he lifted her.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll get you there as soon as I can, promise." He ran with her through a deserted industrial area, then took to the rooftops to avoid being seen. She had passed out almost as soon as they began moving so he didn't have to worry about her noticing their unorthodox passage, and he was in a hurry to get back and deal with the bodies.

When he was a block from the hospital he looked carefully around and dropped to the ground, walking at a brisk human pace around the corner to the emergency room doors and calling out to the orderly standing near them, "Help! I found this woman a few blocks away, you have to help her!"

 **...**

 **...**

Carlisle angrily clenched his jaw as he looked down at the unconscious woman who'd just been brought in. "How did she get here, Floyd?"

"Some young fellow brought her in, said he found her a few blocks away, but didn't know anything else about what happened."

"His name?"

The orderly sucked his teeth. "Can't say as I know it. He left in the commotion. He was real shaken though."

"Ah well, I suppose it doesn't matter," Carlisle replied dismissively, his mind already moving to ordering x-rays.

He was closing a laceration on her cheek with tiny, neat stitches when she began to rouse. "Please stay still, Miss Hale; just a few more… there, all done." Her heart began to race and he leaned back to put more space between them, continuing soothingly, "You're safe now, I promise. You're at Rochester General Hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?"

She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him, her heart still racing.

"Truly, you are safe here. Would you like me to call the nurse back in? She just left to—"

"No," she whispered, her hands clenched into fists. "I'm fine."

Carlisle hesitated, then asked bluntly, "Do you know who did this to you?"

She flinched.

"I'm sorry to need to ask you," he explained gently, "but if you know who he is he can be brought to justice for what he's done."

She let out a bitter noise that was half-sob and half-laugh. "It's done. He's dead."

Carlisle frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Royce…he was…and his friends were going to…and then this man was…was just _there_ …he…" She trailed off and shook her head wildly, clamping her hand over her mouth.

"Careful now, don't pull on your stitches." He slowly reached out to move her hand away, but as soon as he touched her she recoiled, and he immediately drew back.

"Cold," she gasped, her eyes wide.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he agreed casually, and chuckled. "I'm afraid my hands are always cold. Poor circulation."

"He… he was cold. And strong. He… he pulled Royce off with one hand and just…just held him up in the air…like he weighed nothing! And…and he hit the other man into the wall and…" her voice was rising steadily higher and higher into hysteria, and Carlisle leaned out from behind the curtain to gesture urgently for a sedative. "He was too strong! But he… he… he stopped them…they were all…they were all…they were all…all of them…they were…"

A nurse rushed in with a bottle of barbiturates and Carlisle quickly filled a syringe. "Miss Hale, look at my face. Can you breathe with me?"

She fixed her eyes on his, repeating frantically, "They were…they were…they were…"

"I know. Just breathe with me now, all right? Nice and slowly." He breathed steadily and noted her physiological changes as the sedative began to take effect. "That's right. Keep breathing with me. You're safe now. No one can hurt you here."

Her heartbeat slowed, heavy with impending sleep, but right before the drug pulled her under she whispered, "Your eyes…his eyes were like yours."

Carlisle froze. Then he reached for her coat, which had been tossed on a chair by a nurse when she was brought in, and sniffed it.

Five minutes later he was running across the rooftops, following Edward's scent.

He found an alley, empty but for the reek of blood, urine, and terror. Edward's scent was heavy around it in several different directions, which on the one hand was good, since he knew Edward had been here.

On the other hand, whatever bodies had been here were gone. Edward had no reason to come back to this wretched place. And with the various recent scent trails, Carlisle didn't know which way to go.

He squeezed his eyes shut and chose one, setting off into a run and praying he was going the correct direction.

 **...**

 **...**

There was a moment, when Edward heard him coming, that he seriously considered fleeing. He was faster than Carlisle; if he circled around and went into Lake Ontario he was sure to get cleanly away.

Carlisle was murmuring desperate prayers as he ran; he could hear him.

He knew he could get away, that he should.

He didn't want to.

He was just so _tired_.

So he stood there in the forest next to the camouflaged grave, filthy hands hanging loose at his sides, and waited.

Carlisle didn't even pause when he saw him. He plowed through several large branches, an explosion of pine needles and splinters in his wake, ran straight up to him and threw his arms around him. "Edward," he breathed, a world of relief in his voice.

And then Edward was crying, tearless sobs pressed into Carlisle's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Carlisle. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, son," he replied, and Edward was both glad and so utterly ashamed that he still thought of him that way. "Son, please come home."

"I didn't mean to kill them," he blurted, beginning to ramble disjointedly. "It's been so long since I killed anyone, two years, so long, and I've tried so hard to not... I try to avoid men like that now, and I didn't… I wasn't paying attention, I was just…I was…music, Messiaen's new piece, I wanted to find a piano." His hands fisted in the back of Carlisle's lab coat, his dirty fingers ripping the white fabric. "I just wanted to find a piano," he whispered. "I was going to go to the Thousand Islands, find an empty summer home with a piano, and I wasn't paying attention."

"Edward, you most likely saved her life," Carlisle countered gently.

He pulled away. "It's not my place to decide who lives and who dies."

The other man smiled at that, and Edward mentally cringed from his misplaced pride. "No, it isn't. But that's not what you did. You said yourself that it wasn't intentional."

"I wanted to take them to the zoo," he said bitterly. "Make it look like they fell into a cage with the lions or apes, let everyone see how drunk and stupid they were. But their injuries…I couldn't risk someone getting suspicious. Especially not with you and Esme living here."

There was a long pause before Carlisle said expressionlessly, "You did know we were here, then."

"Yes." He winced at the hurt in Carlisle's mind. "I've been looking for you for some time. I just found you yesterday."

"But then tonight, you were leaving."

Edward shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I don't understand," Carlisle said carefully. His thoughts were almost too much to keep up with as he rapidly rejected and selected his words. "Even if you didn't wish to stay," and, oh, the pain that imbued that thought was almost overwhelming, "why would you not come to see us?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe," he responded, avoiding the question. "I've been very sorry that you've lost the safety my gift afforded."

Carlisle huffed a humorless laugh. "I can't say it's something we've really thought about. We've been too busy missing _you_." He frowned at Edward's stunned silence, and continued more gently, "Son, surely you know we value you for more than your ability to read minds?"

 _You shouldn't_ , Edward thought wearily. He stared at his hands. The dirt was beginning to slough off, his unnatural skin not allowing it to cling, and he wished it were truly so easy to be clean.

The silence stretched out between them.

"Edward," Carlisle asked almost sternly, "why will you not come home?" _I hate to push him so, but it cannot be left this way. He's clearly hurting._

When he finally replied his voice was so quiet it was barely audible. "If I come home, I won't be able to leave again."

 _Good!_ Carlisle cried in his head, but aloud he only pressed, "Why would we want you to leave?"

"You should. You _will_. I don't belong there. You don't know what I've done."

His father scoffed. "I have a very good idea."

Edward glared at him. "But you don't _know_."

After a long moment Carlisle nodded decisively, sat down, and patted the ground beside him. "Then tell me."

So Edward did.

 **...**

 **...**

A long while later, they headed home.

Esme saw them coming and burst from the house, leaving the door swaying drunkenly from its one remaining hinge, and ran into Edward with such force that he was nearly knocked from his feet. Then she hugged him as though she would never let him go.

She pulled away eventually and cradled his face in her hands, proclaiming fiercely, "You are _staying_."

Edward smiled at her, and Carlisle was glad to see there was less shame and weariness in his eyes. "Yes, Esme. I'm home to stay."

 **...**

 **...**

 _But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him._ Luke 15:20

 _They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved._ Twilight, chapter 16

 **...**

 **...**

* * *

 **A/N: So I started thinking, what if a self-loathing Edward never went home after his rebellious period, and voila! This was born. It took forever to get him to a place where he would agree to go home, the stupid boy, but I finally managed it. Anyway, I'm marking it as complete since it can stand on its own, but there will eventually (and by eventually I mean at _least_ 6 months) be a second chapter with the aftermath for Rosalie and a glimpse of her future-so follow this (or me) if that's something you're interested in reading. :) Title is from _Ode to the West Wind_ by Percy Bysshe Shelley and I adapted the Carlesme scene in the house from a post I made on ****cullencouture a while back-if you want to read the whole thing and see a sad/stoic photo of Esme you can find it by searching Christmas 1930 on cullencouture DOT tumblr. I love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment if you can!**


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